The World Goes On Without You
by jivvin
Summary: Tony Stark has never made it out of Afghanistan. How will the Avengers fight off the Chitauri invasion without him?


A/N: I would like to thank **SiOmniaFicta **for _"Marvel's The Avengers Script"_ she compiled, which I've used here for reference.

* * *

_May, 25th, 2009_

_Rio de Janeiro, Brazil_

Failure.

Another failure, different, yet always the same.

Bruce clenched his fists and made a couple of deep breaths, resisting the urge to hurl his laptop into a wall and punch something. Someone.

_Whom? Whom are you gonna punch, Banner, if it's no-one's fault but yours? It must not be humanly possible to fail at _everything_ you do, and yet you manage to do it! Every single time! Every single attempt to find out what went wrong, everything you do to try and cure it ends in _nothing_, you pathetic, stupid, weak…_

_Stop it._

And he stopped. Heaved a long sigh and watched as green retreated from his hands, felt his heartbeat slow down. The last thing he needed right now was another incident.

_I simply missed something. Something important. I will need to go back and…_

He took of his glasses off and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. _And what?_ He already went back a dozen times before, finding nothing new, making no progress…

He needed to step back for a while. Yeah, that was it. Maybe grab some fresh air or food. When was the last time he ate? Was it on this week? He has completely lost the track of time with this last attempt…

He stood up from the table and stretched, feeling sore and very, very tired.

A quick sweep of the apartment confirmed his suspicions: there was no food here, whatsoever. _So, dinner will have to wait then._

It's not like he really wanted it in the first place. The life on the run has decreased his already wane appetite to the point when he could go on without food for extended periods of time, provided there were no incidents, of course. And the last one has happened months ago.

So, another distraction. Like… TV. It was very old and got only four channels, three of which were showing different soap operas practically non-stop, but the last one actually had some sort of news program.

Bruce was still learning Portuguese, but he understood the most of what was being said. And, of course, it was easy to grasp the general feelings of the pieces, like pride and cheer in the one with Brazilian contestant winning some annual race, and sorrow in the other, with fourteen people dying in a plane crash near Torosco…

_Good job distracting yourself from your problems with a sight of dead innocents, Banner_, he thought, reaching out to turn the TV off. But then the anchor had started on the international news, and Bruce decided to watch it. He was really out of the loop lately. He was still thinking that America had a white President until two weeks ago, when he was proven wrong by some random article in a local newspaper.

As it turned out, the piece was about Anthony Stark, an American weapon manufacturer, who has been kidnapped and killed by some sort of terrorist organization while on a business trip to Afghanistan. Bruce did not recognize the face of the man, but remembered the name instantly: Stark Industries was one of the Army contractors, providing all sorts of weaponry and equipment to Ross's division in particular. So, in a way, this man was helping Ross to hunt Bruce – and that other one – for the last three years now…

Not that Bruce was particularly angry at this Stark guy. The man's job was making those weapons and, besides, hasn't he paid for it already? The ultimate price, so to speak. And as if agreeing with him, a grey-bearded man in an expensive-looking suit was now saying how "the world has lost a beautiful mind" and "Tony's creations were his children," while trying to sound remorseful and crestfallen. He wasn't really succeeding.

Bruce never considered himself an expert on social interactions, but there were some things he could pinpoint almost flawlessly.

_Lie. Fear. Anger_.

And as far as he could tell, there was only one person on that whole press-conference who was actually sincere in their expression of feelings for the deceased. The red-headed woman in the background, who was covering her mouth with her hand, holding back tears. No-one even noticed her.

_This is wrong._

Bruce turned off the TV and ran a hand through his hair. Something was not right. The violent presence inside of him stirred in agreement, but then relaxed, the irrational feeling of _wrongness_ passing as quickly as it appeared.

It was none of his business. His business was finding the cure, a direction in which he was _not_ advancing. So he put his glasses back on and sat in front of the laptop, once again immersing himself in the project data, all the while trying not to think about how that red-headed woman reminded him of Betty – _oh god don't even think about Betty_ – and her favorite quote.

A quote he personally despised.

_All is for the best in this, the best of all possible worlds._

* * *

_April, 11th, 2012_

_S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier_

Accomplishment.

It wasn't much yet, and it wasn't perfect, but to Bruce Banner it already felt like an accomplishment, first one in years. And if he was completely honest with himself – which he always was – it was even a little fun.

Here they had this theatrical villain named Loki, another aspirant to world domination, his almost comically righteous brother Thor, Director Fury, who looked like an anti-hero character of a low-budget sci-fi movie, the magnificent piece of technology that was Helicarrier… And, of course, it was the first time in… ever, actually, that he was surrounded by dozens of people who knew about the other guy, yet desperately tried to pretend that they didn't. It still hurt, but was also amusing, in a way. It was better than the barely contained fear or poorly hidden disgust he was used to, and he appreciated the effort.

Of course, he wished that there was someone, even a single person, who… who would look him in the eye, at least, but he also knew it was a horrible, selfish wish_. One you should've got rid of already_. _You know damn well that, with you, 'fear' equals 'safety,' and yet you actually _want _for someone to… Jesus, Banner, and then you wonder why people hate you._

He sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. A headache was forming in the back of his head ever since Loki was brought on board. And even if working among so many people wasn't straining enough in itself, this kind of thoughts was really counterproductive.

He should just concentrate on his job. The Gamma readings from the scanners that S.H.I.E.L.D. provided were definitely consistent with Dr. Selvig's reports on the Tesseract, but their processing could take weeks…

_Unless I find some way to reroute it to a cluster with higher power capacities…_

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Captain America entering the lab, going straight to his table. The man was not in his best shape – the fight with Loki was a hard one, and he and Agent Romanoff have barely managed to capture the god. Luckily for the Captain though, his regeneration was already taking care of the most of the damage.

_God, I hope it will be a quick one_.

It was not that he disliked the Captain. There was really nothing to dislike there, the man was the embodiment of virtue, the symbol of freedom, selfless and noble, strong and just. So perfect it was almost painful to look at and kind of made Bruce want to break something.

And the most of the pain was caused by the fact that it was all Steve. One could synthetize strength and speed and endurance all they wanted, but things like courage and kindness simply could not come out of a bottle.

Maybe that was why the serum has worked on the soldier, why he's got it right wherever Bruce has got it wrong. Captain America was possible because Steve Rogers was who he was. A hero.

_And the other guy was possible because you were who you were, Banner. A fucking mistake._

"Are you making progress, Doctor?" the Captain asked, looking at Bruce's computer with suspicion and mild curiosity.

"Yes," Bruce nodded, not taking his eyes away from the screen. "It is going to take some time, but we will locate it."

There was no answer, and he decided that that was the end of it. After a minute of silence, however, he looked up to find Captain still there, watching him with an uncertain expression in his eyes. _I know where this is going_. "Anything else…"

"No," the other man answered instantly. "I just… wanted to…"

_See if I'm not losing it already?_

"Check up on me after what Loki has said?" Bruce smiled. "It's alright. I wouldn't have come aboard if I couldn't handle such simple words." _A mindless beast makes play he's still a man_. Bruce had long since accepted the truth about himself, and if that was the best Loki could throw at him… But Captain was obviously worrying about the safety of the ship and the people, and, since Bruce was one of its primary threats right now, there was no reason not to reassure the soldier. "And I'm not here to cause trouble. I'm just going to finish my work here and…" he added, adjusting the frequency parameters on one of the scanners.

"And?"

"Huh?" Bruce looked up, confused for a second. "Oh, and hope they will let me go after it."

"You think Fury might try to… keep you here against your will?" Captain asked carefully.

"You've seen the cage," Bruce shrugged.

"That's not…" the other man began hastily, but was interrupted when Bruce actually looked away from the readings and right into his eyes.

"Is it?" the physicist asked with all seriousness, because it was the most serious subject out there. His freedom, the last and the only thing he owned. "It's military, Captain. Don't let the fancy name fool you, it is a military organization and as such, it is all about weapons." With that, he took off his glasses and offered the man what he hoped was a charming smile. "And I'm the strongest weapon there is."

He caught it for a second. It wasn't there the very next moment, of course, when the training kicked in and the barriers were back up, but – just like with Agent Romanoff back in India – for one fleeting second he caught _fear_ in the soldier's eyes.

And again he felt some disgusting, dangerous part of his mind wishing for it not being there. For it to be understanding instead.

_Well, aren't you just one sick bastard, Banner_.

There fear was gone from the Captain's eyes, but there was concern now. And… worry, maybe? Bruce was not sure – positive emotions were much harder for him to identify.

"Doctor, I think Loki is trying to wind us up," the Captain said gravely. "This is a man who means to start a war and if we don't stay focused he'll succeed. Do you understand me?"

_Oh, great. He thinks you're losing it already. As if staying focused isn't how you've been spending the last six years of your life. You may as well stop trying to look all calm and collected – these people are not going to believe you either way. _

"Perfectly," Bruce smiled.

Captain didn't look particularly convinced.

"Just… find the Cube," he said before turning around and walking out of the lab.

_You did want to be a part of this team, didn't you_, Bruce thought as he returned to his work. Technically, bypassing the mainframe and directing the processing route to the homework cluster would increase the power up to five or even six hundred teraflops, but he wasn't sure if he could actually pull that off. Electronics… was not his strongest point.

He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. The headache was getting stronger, and all Bruce wished for was that there was someone else here. Someone who actually knew what they were doing.

* * *

Out.

The other guy wanted out, but Bruce was determined to keep him in as long as possible.

It was getting harder and harder though. First it was the explosion – one he nearly missed, what with being on his way to some cell or another S.H.I.E.L.D. had to come up with due to _his cage _being already occupied. Then – Loki's goons (or whatever they were called) swarming the lab after Bruce decided to get back to it to grab the processing results.

And, of course, the fact that _these people were going to lock you up and, probably, drug you into obedience at the very first thought of you losing it._

"_I agree with Director Fury on this one, Dr. Banner. I think it would be best for all of us if you… waited it out in a more secure environment."_

_What were you even thinking? That this was your chance to get back, to atone, to do good? You should have known better, Banner, you should have known there was never a chance for you…_

The processing was almost complete. It could've gone faster if he was better at assembling the power channels for the matrix cluster, but he wasn't _that_ kind of genius. Just a couple more minutes…

"Have you got it?" Agent Romanoff asked from the far side of the room, finishing off one of the attackers with a quick blow to the back of the guy's neck.

"A minute!" he answered, trying to even his breathing, when a loud noise to the left made him look that way, only to find… an arrow pointed directly at him.

_Who the hell uses arrows these days?_

Then there was a gasp, a shot, a low whistling sound and the excruciating pain in his left side.

_OUT!_ A roar flooded his conscience, made him cry out and grab the end of the table so as not to lose balance.

_No, no, not now, not here, please, I will destroy them all_…

Bruce vaguely registered Agent Romanoff fighting the archer guy as he yanked the arrow out, dropping it to the ground, watching the purple of his shirt getting consumed by the black of the blood.

He felt ten times weaker suddenly, and in the next moment – ten times stronger and twenty times angrier. There was no hope now, no way for him to stop it, the transformation will start any second and _I knew it I knew it I'm a danger to everyone it will kill them I've tried so hard_…

"Doctor?" he heard through the roars and the panic. Romanoff's voice, quiet but nervous. "Bruce, you gotta fight it. This is just what Loki wants. We're gonna be okay. Listen to me…"

He can't. He can't listen to her, because she was the one who brought him here. _Brought him here and wanted to cage him!_

_No, no! Shut up! She wants to help you and you have to help her, have to fight it…_

Every muscle of his body was on fire, every nerve screaming, every bone stretching, his mind shaking and shattering under the beast's constant assault. He opened his eyes and saw the world tainted green, saw the destruction and the fire and the… the readings. The processing was over, they've got the location, and wasn't that…

Another jolt of pain ran through his body, and, fighting through the thickening haze, he turned to look at Romanoff's distressed face.

And growled, gathering the last grains of consciousness: "Downtown… Starrrkk…"

And was no more.

* * *

"…under attack. Engines three and two are defunct. Attention all personnel. Attention all personnel. Report to your stations…"

The last of the attackers fell, and Steve took a moment to catch his breath. The effects of their morning encounter with Loki were still told on him, and now with this attack…

The Helicarrier was badly damaged, the agents were taken by surprise and had to fight basically their own colleagues, and the only thing Steve hoped for now was that Romanoff has actually managed to take Dr. Banner some place safe. _The last thing we need_…

A terrible roar rang through the air, quickly followed by another explosion that rocked the whole ship.

_Right._

"…all personnel. We are under attack. Engines three and two are defunct, structural integrity of the ship is compromised. Abandon all stations. Repeat: abandon all stations…"

He could not believe this. Just when they've got the upper hand, the enemy captured and his weapon almost found…

The Helicarrier was going down, and there was nothing he could do about it.

But it was just a ship. They've still got the chance, still got hope as long as the _people_ were alive. That was his new objective: evacuate the troops.

And so he ran through the broken hallways in the direction of the escape pods, thoughts racing each other in his mind.

_The fight, not the war. Retreat, regroup. Soldiers die._

_We'll make him pay._

* * *

Pain.

His whole body was a dull ache, his mind hollow and quiet, slowly filling with memories.

_Romanoff's green eyes, wide with fear, the Helicarrier falling apart, fighting Thor, bullets…_

Bullets were the worst, of course. He will see them every time he closes his eyes now, at least for a couple of weeks.

_I should've gotten used to it by now. Why can't I?_

Bruce ran a hand though his dust-filled hair and looked around. The warehouse-like building he landed on seemed to be the only structure for miles around, but he could see the city on the horizon.

_Should I go there? I should, it'll be the right thing to do. They might need my… his help_.

_Yeah, I think they've already seen how 'helpful' he can be today._

_They've promised not to put you in a cage and then tried to do exactly that. They were manipulating you, using you, trying to kill you._

_They can't._

_They didn't know that. Probably should have told them, though._

_Like they'd care. It would only mean a shorter leash and a stronger cell._

_So, why am I doing this, again?_

He sighed and looked at the sky. Bright and blue, without a single cloud.

Why was he even trying? It was very risky and extremely dangerous. Yeah, he's got some control over it, but they didn't care. He was even not so sure _he_ cared anymore. It will probably end in a disaster, just like everything always ends for him. And it wasn't like he was some kind of hero, he never pretended to be one.

_Because I know who I am. A failure of a person, a monster, a menace. A weapon. _

The rumbling presence inside of his mind stirred uneasily, breaking itself against the walls of his consciousness in slow, dark waves.

He was a fucking gun. That was it, basically. In the end, all he was good at was… going off.

_But you wanted to do good, Banner. Remember? You wanted so desperately to be good. Like Captain America and all that shit._

_Except Captain America wanted you in a cage. And doesn't that just make you _angry_?_

Surprisingly, Bruce found that it really didn't. He couldn't _seriously_ be offended by the other people trying to protect themselves from him, after all.

The presence solidified itself in his skull, the waves turning into ice. The rumbling was getting louder and sharper, like a distant peal of thunder.

_I hear you. And I really did want to be on that team. I really wanted it to make a difference._

But it didn't, and somehow it was the whole reason he was going back.

It really _was_ the right thing to do.

Not because of some moral aspects, not because he was noble or righteous or simply a good person. Because, obviously, he wasn't any of those things.

He was a weapon. It _was_ right for him to go where the fight was and… shoot.

And though he hated it, hated being used and playing into S.H.I.E.L.D.'s hands, hated the way _it was his life_, he also knew that, this time, it all was a bit different.

This time _he_ was the one pointing that gun. Pointing it at the bad guys.

For what felt like the first time in his life _he_ was the one in control.

And so he turned around and went looking for the bike the guy who found him here mentioned, trying very hard not to think about the fact that, in movies, all shit usually broke loose right after someone said that _they've got it under control._

* * *

It was about half an hour since Steve Rogers had reached the land.

He was on his way through the chaos that surrounded him, trying not to get distracted by it, trying hard not to stop and think about what had just happened and what was still happening around him.

The Helicarrier was sinking, slowly but steadily, the waters claiming the metal corpse as their rightful prey. The police and ambulance workers, as well as the surviving agents, were running frantically along the shore, organizing the search and the reception of the escape pods, estimating the damages, treating the wounded, counting the missing and the dead.

The damages were enormous, the survivors – too few.

Fury was livid, but Steve suspected that it wasn't the loss of the ship that had made them all listen to the unending torrent of the most vulgar and creative profanities he's ever heard. He's seen the lists: Agent Hill and Agent Coulson were still not accounted for.

As were Thor and Dr. Banner, which really left him with little choice of whom to speak to about their next objective: locating the enemy. Again.

Agent Romanoff was now in the makeshift "med bay" area, standing near the open escape pod next to Agent Barton, who didn't look good at all, even considering the general bad shape of the survivors. He seemed to be out of Loki's influence now, quietly talking about something to his partner, but Steve couldn't really be sure.

Romanoff seemed to be completely at ease with him though (as much as she was ever at ease, anyway), and she simply nodded at Steve's silent question, which was reassurance enough for him.

"How are you holding up?" Steve asked, moving his gaze from one agent to another.

"Just peachy," Barton deadpanned, and Romanoff only asked: "What's our next move?"

Steve found that he felt grateful for their direct approach and complete absence of emotion regarding this whole incident. But they _were _soldiers, after all. They went on until the mission was complete, and they knew that stopping to think, even for a minute, of how hard and painful and horrible things were around them could mean all the difference between success and failure. Between life and death, both theirs and their comrades.

So he said, without further ado: "We need to find out where Loki is now and what exactly his plan is concerning the Cube. Do you have some insight on it?" he asked, turning to face Agent Barton.

The man's expression was completely closed off, his voice even and a little tense. "He did not share any information with me," he shook his head. "I'm sure he did not even plan on me surviving the attack."

Steve saw a shadow cross Romanoff's face at that, but she said nothing.

"We'll figure it out on our own then," Steve said in his most earnest tone. "I understand it that Loki will need a power source for his machine. That's our starting point – we will put together a list of places with sufficient power production…"

"Starting where?" Romanoff asked.

"New York," came Barton's quick reply. Steve shot him a questioning glance, to which the man just shrugged and continued with the same detached assurance. "Loki's a real attention whore."

"That's… hard to miss," Steve agreed, feeling slightly embarrassed by the agent's choice of words. Such casual swearing still caught him off guard sometimes.

"He doesn't want to just _win_," Barton went on, "he wants to rub our faces in it…"

"…and if he's gonna strike, he'll do it as close to home as possible," Romanoff finished for him. Her expression became thoughtful for a moment, but then she looked at Steve with a bit of surprise on her face, as if some realization just hit her. "Stane Tower," was all she said.

"What's that?"

"That's what Banner has said, right before he… transformed," she explained. "I didn't get it at first… but it makes sense: he's been S.H.I.E.L.D.'s main contractor for three years now, ever since he became the head of the Stark Industries…"

"Wait, what does Stark Industries has to do with anything?"

"The new Stark Industries headquarters in New York is usually referred to as 'Stane Tower,' after its CEO Obadiah Stane," Barton nodded. "It's not common knowledge, but the building has its own experimental power source, very efficient…"

"…as well as very unstable and underdeveloped," Romanoff agreed. Steve found it somewhat cute how these two seemed to finish each other's sentences like that, but he would never dare to admit it to their faces. "I believe we have a winner," she added, looking at Steve expectantly.

"Then this is settled. We'll need to find a way to contact Thor, and then we can move out," Steve nodded solemnly.

"Good." Barton's voice was still even, but his eyes now had a dark, dangerous edge to them. "Hate to keep the little shit waiting."

* * *

It had to end soon.

Either that, or Steve was not responsible for the outcome of this battle.

There were just so many of them, and more kept on coming every minute. He knew that Agent Romanoff was working on closing the portal, but she was certainly not doing it quickly enough for his tastes.

He hoped she was alright. None of them entered the battle at their best, but her injuries were quite severe the last time he saw her, and she did not possess his regenerative abilities or Thor's general toughness.

Though she did have the additional support of Agent Barton covering her from the top of the nearest building. She will make it.

Steve was not so sure about himself though. The fight was wearing him down fast, and he had to let Thor go in order to provide them all air support they were dangerously lacking. The Hulk – who surprised everyone by actually showing up and joining the action – was currently nowhere to be seen, probably too busy tearing down one of those behemoth-sized creatures that everyone except him or Thor had no chance of even damaging.

That left him as the only one of the team positioned on the ground, alone against the hordes of the enemy infantry. He dodged one of the brilliant blue projectiles and swung his shield at the closest hostile, then sent it flying in a long arc, hitting another three of them in a fast ricochet sequence.

The pack was down, and that gave Steve a moment to look around, when he saw something out of the corner of his eye – a dark spot on the blue sky, too small to be a hostile glider…

A missile?

And as if on cue, he heard Barton's voice in his earpiece.

"_There is a nuclear missile aimed at the city. Guess they're not taking any chances here_…"

"_I need a couple more minutes, the portal is almost closed!"_ Romanoff replied, her voice strained, her breathing heavy.

But they were not getting any. None of them had the means to intercept the missile, and it was closing in rapidly on the city, descending, flying just over the buildings, going straight to…

Straight to the Hulk's hands, who snatched it out of the air mid-jump and landed on the ground with an earth-shattering impact. He then proceeded to turn it around in his hands, watching it curiously, just like a child with a new, unusual toy. But after a couple of moments of this odd game something changed in his grotesque face, curiosity being quickly replaced by determination, and the next thing Steve saw was the monster taking off from the ground, rocketing into the sky with agility and speed incredible for such a large creature.

"_What the hell_…" Barton murmured, and Steve had to admit that he couldn't have worded it better himself.

It was as if everything stood still for the next few moments, and all the eyes were on the sky, where the giant green beast turned quickly into a tiny dot.

Then something shifted almost imperceptibly in the air, right before the sky lit ablaze and the strong rush of wind knocked Steve from his feet.

And he was not perfectly sure about it afterwards, but right then and there Steve could have sworn that amongst the violent roaring of the explosion and the yells that were flooding his earpiece he had heard something else.

A distant howl, pained and sad, like that of a dying animal.

* * *

Fall.

He was falling, and the wind was whistling in his ears.

What has happened? He only remembered _shock_ and _push_ that must've been what had thrown the other guy out of the game…

_God, what have I done?_

He was falling, and all he could see was the sky, burning, moving away at a terrible speed.

_I only wanted to make something good, something right! What have I done, please, just let me remember! _

He was falling, and the thoughts screamed in his mind, all at once, loud and painful.

_Is this it? Have I killed them? How many have I killed, how much destroyed? I only wanted to help, god, all I ever wanted was to help…_

He was falling, and no memories came. His mind was empty.

_I can't hear you. What have I done, I can't hear you, don't leave me alone…_

He was falling, and then he fell, and then it was over.

* * *

_April, 12th, 2012_

_New York_

It was a beautiful day.

The sun was shining, and the birds were singing, and the air was dry and warm.

Steve Rogers was freezing.

The world was saved. Or at least that was what it looked like. The… _aliens_ were not defeated, simply locked up in wherever they were coming from, and Steve hoped to all the gods out there that it was enough.

He has not slept in forty-eight hours and has not eaten in at least twenty-four. He was bruised all over and barely standing on his own.

To his right, Thor looked drained and withered and a thousand years older.

To his left, Agent Romanoff sat in a wheelchair, struggling to stay awake, her face blank, her eyes dead.

The stone in front of him was silent.

They have won. The portal was closed, Loki was captured, the city was badly damaged, but still there. Right now, people were already clearing up the rubble, treating the wounded, mourning the dead. The life went on.

That was the thing he hated the most about life: it went on, whether you were ready or not.

It was a beautiful day, and in a beautiful world, where everything was right, it would have been a day for celebration.

But this was one ugly, horrible world, and they were on the cemetery.

Loki's "deportation" was delayed so Thor could be present too. There was not that many people here – only a handful of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, really. There were no speeches, because there was nothing left to say, and no tears, because these people have long since lost the ability to cry.

But what was the most weird, the most terrifying thing about this funeral was that, if he was really honest with himself, Steve did not know any of the people around him.

Not a single one of those few agents. Not the unflappable, grim looking Nick Fury. Not the noble Thor, who fought with everything he had for the world that wasn't even his. Not the fierce and deadly Natasha Romanoff, who managed to close that damned portal despite her numerous injuries and was now being here despite all the doctors forbidding her to leave the hospital for at least a week.

Not the recklessly brave _Clinton Francis Barton, 1975-2012_, whose last words were: "Still fighting," and who kept the tide from coming at Natasha till the very end.

Not the quiet and unerringly polite _Robert Bruce Banner, 1969-2012_, who returned to fight with them and whose body was only found eight hours ago on the outskirts of the city, a pile of blood and broken bones.

And all the countless civilians and soldiers and agents that were not here anymore. He did not know a single thing about them, and somehow it was all he could think about.

It was April, so why it was so damn cold?

He wanted to leave. To run and never come back, from this place that was always about pain and loss. He has already been here. He had visited Peggy's grave here before, and Dugan's and Cohen's, the only of his friends who lived and died in New York. And, of course, he went to the Stark family crypt, where Howard was buried alongside his wife and his son, whom Steve hasn't been given a chance to meet.

He was getting tired of it. Tired of the every new day making him mourn another friend, another comrade, another single soul. He wanted nothing more than to fall asleep and never, ever have to wake up anymore.

Instead he stayed. He owed it to them, for it was their day. The day they saved the world.

They were heroes and did everything right.

But as Steve Rogers continued to stand under the warm April sun beside two fresh graves of the men he knew nothing about, he couldn't help but think that something, somewhere, has gone entirely, irreversibly wrong.

* * *

A/N: So... yeah. In my defense, I had my resoning behind practically every part of this. And I'm sorry if it's actually horrible, I was feeling really depressed while writing it. And, though I probably should've said it sooner, I'm really sorry for all the mistakes I missed, please don't hate me.


End file.
